


Coming home

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: A feeling of anxiety and longing had accompanied him in recent years every time he left London. And the cause of those feelings, Mycroft had finally been forced to recognise him, he had a name and a surname.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85
Collections: Mystrade is our Division





	Coming home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janyss/gifts).
  * Inspired by [You're so far away from me...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204705) by [Janyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janyss/pseuds/Janyss). 



> This is made to answer to the prompt "Far" on the Facebook page "Mystrade is our division".  
> Janyss wrote a wonderful fic, "You're so far away from me..." And this demanded to be written. I hope you don't mind, Janyss, I did it with more affection than talent. Thank you all for reading, but the story you can't miss is You're so far away. https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204705
> 
> For some reason I'm unable to write short stories...  
> The characters belong to Double, Gatiss and Moffat.  
> The song is Home by Michael Bubble. https://youtu.be/lbSOLBMUvIE
> 
> English is not my first language, this was written with the help of a translator. I'm sorry for any mistakes.

The half-hour stopover that the flight of more than twelve hours between India and London had made in Rome was becoming eternal.  
Of course, no one who didn't know Mycroft Holmes well would have noticed the man's inner turmoil.  
A feeling of anxiety and longing had accompanied him in recent years every time he left London. And the cause of those feelings, Mycroft had finally been forced to recognise him, he had a name and a surname.

He was looking out of the huge window of the waiting room, oblivious to the other passengers, who were spending their time as best they could: the adults were reading, the children were running under the watchful eye of their parents, the teenagers were busy with their mobile phones.  
Nearby, a young man was playing music videos on his tablet, without bothering to use headphones. He turned up the volume when a Michael Bubble song started playing.  
It wasn't exactly the kind of music or artist Mycroft would listen to, but he knew the lyrics and seemed to fit in so well with what he was feeling that he closed his eyes for a moment, absorbed in his thoughts.

"Another summer day  
Has come and gone away  
In Paris and Rome  
But I wanna go home, mmm"

Just a few years ago, the time between one plane and the next would have been spent by Mycroft planning the next trip, arranging meetings, checking that his brothers were still safe and making sure the country was not close to collapse.  
No matter how exhausted he was, how stressful, tedious or risky, his work was the only thing he had, the only thing that gave meaning to his existence, giving him a sense of belonging, a way to fill a void that had always been inside him.

"May be surrounded by  
A million people I  
Still feel all alone  
Just wanna go home  
Oh, I miss you, you know"

That excuse of a life had worked relatively well until two years ago.  
In the past, when loneliness became too unbearable, he would simply pick up a phone and engage in a new task, a new problem to solve that would occupy his mind, making him forget for a few hours how empty his life was.  
His career had wobbled slightly after the Sherrinford debacle. The thought of losing his job had terrified him more than his sister's mind games. All Mycroft had was his career. If he lost that, what would he have left?  
But not only had he succeeded in the investigation he was subjected to, he had been given even more responsibilitys than before.  
His superiors wanted to make it very clear that Mycroft Holmes was an indispensable asset to the nation, aware of the multi-million dollar offers he had received from other countries during his brief suspension.  
Now, he had everything he had always wanted: every minute of his time was occupied with important work, his relationship with his family had stabilized after a few hectic months, and Sherlock seemed much calmer and more accessible, no longer a constant concern for him.  
However, when this had been his greatest wish, Gregory Lestrade was still not part of his life.  
He, who had always run away from emotions, had to admit that nothing brought so much light into his life and so much peace of his mind as a few minutes of conversation with the DI, who after Sherrinford had ceased to be an attractive and unattainable acquaintance who helped him to keep Sherlock alive to become a constant support during those awful months after Eurus and a good friend afterwards.  
No, getting out of London wasn't the problem, he admitted.  
Why of all the things he was leaving behind, Greg was the only thing Mycroft missed when he was leaving, and the chance to see him was the only reason he wanted to return.  
After two years since their bond had been strengthened, Mycroft felt ready to acknowledge that the attraction he had previously felt for the man had grown into love.

"And I've been keeping all the letters  
That I wrote to you  
Each one a line or two  
I'm fine baby, how are you?  
Well I would send them but I know  
That it's just not enough  
My words were cold and flat  
And you deserve more than that"

Although after returning to work their meetings had been brief and punctual, their presence abroad was increasingly in demand, they had kept in touch, whit Mycroft using any excuse to talk whit he, something that seemed to meet with Greg's enthusiastic approval.

More than once he had wondered whether the man felt more than just friendly affection for him, but the idea had been dismissed each time: what could a generous, attractive, kind man like Gregory Lestrade see in Mycroft Holmes? It was absurd. 

On more than one occasion during his travels, he had taken photographs of places, landscapes, food or objects that he would like to share with Greg. . A way of telling him that no matter how far away Mycroft was, he would always be thinking of him, that he missed him.  
But the words to express this without frightening the man never came, and in the end the messages remained unsent, because he also did not feel able to send a simple greeting, a simple 'how are you?  
That was something you said to an office colleague after a weekend, a cold and impersonal greeting that meant nothing, something to which the other was expected to reply a 'well, thank you, and you?' while everyone went their own way, not to the man to whom you owed so much and whose presence was the only thing that had kept you afloat during a shipwreck.

"Another airplane  
Another sunny place  
I'm lucky I know  
But I wanna go home  
Mmm, I got to go home  
Let me go home  
I'm just too far  
From where you are  
I wanna come home"

Mycroft knew he was a lucky man. He had influence and more money than he could ever spend.  
He knew the most powerful men and women in the world.  
In the last two years he had allowed himself to mix business travel with pleasure, visiting every architectural gem, enjoying hundreds of different sunrises in hundreds of different places. On one occasion, he had had the opportunity, at the expense of her sleeping hours, to contemplate two different dawns on opposite sides of the world on the same day.  
He had stayed in the best hotels and tasted delicacies from every corner of the world.  
He had seen unique natural phenomena, from the northern lights to the white rainbows of Iceland, from the midnight sun in Norway to the stunning lavender fields of Japan to the captivating mountains of Kyoto.  
And while he had appreciated the beauty of it all, inside he could only feel the nostalgia of thinking that he wished Greg were there with him. The DI was too far away for him to enjoy anything. Without him, without his bright, mischievous eyes, without his soft, warm smile, everything seemed to lack color. 

"And I feel just like  
I'm living someone else's life  
It's like I just stepped outside  
When everything was going right

And I know just why you could not  
Come along with me  
That this was not your dream  
But you always believed in me"

Greg had been happy when they Mycroft was notified that he could return to work. Even when Mycroft himself, immersed in his depression , had shown doubts about his ability, Greg had encouraged him, reminding him how necessary his role was for everyone.  
He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of all the times they had made plans to see each other cancelled because of their work.  
Although he seemed sad about it, the DI was always understanding, rejecting his apologies, finding words of encouragement and encouragement for him, telling him that there would be other opportunities to meet. Greg understood that his work was the most important thing, he said.  
And the older Holmes nodded, biting his lips, as he held back from telling him that what was most important to him was Greg.

On more than one occasion Mycroft had been tempted to ask him to accompany him on a trip, or to some function, but engaging in conversation with bureaucrats or waiting in a hotel for Mycroft to be free from meetings for touring a city burdened by its short schedules was not the sort of thing Greg would like to do. If one day the DI decided he wanted to travel with Mycroft, he wished he could give him all his time and attention.  
And everything that had once filled Mycroft now seemed useless and sterile. He had enjoyed his last meeting more, just a few minutes of chatting and smiles shared in the pouring rain of London, they surroundeds by Yard police and MI5 agents and with a dead body under the sheet at his feet, than he had enjoyed his visit to the Tal Mahal. 

"Another winter day  
Has come and gone away  
In even Paris and Rome  
And I wanna go home  
Let me go home"

Mycroft suddenly felt exhausted.  
'I just want to go home,' he thought.  
However, when thinking of 'home' it was not his big mansion on the outskirts that came to mind, nor his apartment in Pall Mall.  
It was Greg he thought of, In the sun ripping silver sparkles from her hair, the smile of relief that crossed the DI's face when he was finally allowed to meet him that distant dawn after leaving Sherrinford, in his hand gently closing over his own in his darkest moments.  
Greg was his home. Wherever he was, it was the only place Mycroft wanted to be.  
Suddenly he felt very far away. 

"And I'm surrounded by  
A million people I  
I still feel alone  
Oh, let me go home  
Oh, I miss you, you know"

He wondered what it would be like to leave everything.  
The idea, which would have terrified him shortly before, made him feel light and free.  
What would Greg say if he decided that he never wanted to be away from him again? That no matter how hard he had worked all those years, or how necessary it was for the nation, that the only thing that mattered was the two of them, and what they could have if they gave him a chance to grow up?  
Greg would tell him that he didn't feel the same way he did? That Mycroft had misunderstood their friendship or, even worse, their compassion?

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

He turned on his mobile phone just as the public address system announced that in a few minutes they would be resuming their flight to London, to find a hundred missed messages and calls, but only one that mattered to his voice mail:

« Hi, Mycroft... I assume you're on your way back from India... Sherlock told me. No worry to have about him, that's not what I want to discuss with you. I.. Well, when you're at the airport... would you consider dismissing your driver and letting me pick you up and bring you back to London ? Or could we meet later, if you're busy or tired? Hope the trip's safe, anyway.»

Greg sounded nervous, but not distressed, which made Mycroft smile, who rushed to send him a voice mail while picking up his handbag.  
"Gregory, we leave Rome now for London, should be there in about two hours. I... I was thinking about you and... I'd love a ride home. There's something I'd like to talk to you about and... I'll see you soon."  
He hung up while the last verses of the song were playing on the boy's tablet. He dropped the case on the floor in his hurry to put everything away and Mycroft picked it up.  
\- Thank you, sir.  
Mycroft gave him a sincere smile, one that few people had seen and that Greg told him one day, half in jest, that he could light up a dark room.  
\- No, thanks to you .

"Let me go home  
I've had my run  
Baby, I'm done  
I gotta go home  
Let me go home  
It'll all be all right  
I'll be home tonight  
I'm coming back home"

Mycroft didn't even tell his driver he could retire.  
It wasn't necessary.  
The slight smile that had accompanied him throughout the flight grew bigger as he saw Greg in the terminal, waiting for him, returning a nervous and hopeful smile.  
Mycroft walked with great strides towards him, his mind reproducing the speech he had been rehearsing on the plane. Greg imitated him, almost running to meet him. Mycroft's speech was lost somewhere in the back of his mind when they finally met and Greg ran his arms around his neck, drawing him into a hug. Mycroft dropped his belongings at his feet, wrapping his arms around his waist, sighing happily.  
They remained there embracing, unaware of the complicit gaze exchanged between the driver and Anthea from the other side of the terminal before quietly retiring, the driver thinking of what might occupy his unexpected afternoon off, Anthea preparing to clear Mycroft's schedule for the next few days. The DI's too, just in case.  
He assumed there would be protests and demands for explanations.  
But none of that was important now.  
Mycroft separated from Greg, stroking his cheek, leaning slightly to leave a soft kiss on his lips.  
It wasn't exactly as he had planned.  
But it didn't matter.  
Mycroft had come home, and everything was going to be fine.  
Mycroft had come back to Greg.


End file.
